Thursday Morning Drizzle

Okay, so I haven't been avoiding this, it's more along the lines that I would think about it and then forget about it or be too tired to do much about it. So Tuesday... Tuesday was the floor meeting, meet and great, drink pop and eat ice cream sandwiches, and learn just how many assholes live on your floor. Yay. When I got back from the meeting, I read the pages for History and went to bed, completely knackered, around eleven thirty. Wednesday, I admit it, I gamed. I finally got a chance to play Soul Calibur 4 and I find it absolutely magical. I'm still learning the controls on the Xbox 360 but I mean, for someone with just a basic knowledge of the controller? I did pretty fantastically. Then I had to do laundry after supper and I literally had three of the small washes going at around the same time, which takes them about forty to wash, an hour or better to dry. I say an hour or better because I was tired, I was stressed, and I just shoved all three loads into one of the dryers. My towels are still damp this morning.

That being said, I suppose I'll do an update while I have some time to myself and I'm enjoying the peace and quiet that is the dorm room. I'll be enjoying it even more this weekend because my parents can't get away, my boyfriend needs to stay at work and can't go on a camping trip with his family like he does every year, and, well, I'm stuck here. Which, in comparison, I don't mind because my roommate won't be here. I won't have to listen to the buzzing of her phone, her weird ring tone, her obnoxious phone voice (which goes up several volume notches than her talking voice, her germ phobia, her need to take a shower before she goes to bed every night and to have a fan blowing on her face while she sleeps - I mean the listen honestly goes on. She's a sweet kid, but I think she needs to stay home with mommy so mommy can cater to her needs because I won't. Thankfully, the crying has stopped, her sickness has seemed to have disappeared, and besides the above, she seems to be fairly happy and adjusted. I think I'll be much happier when she's not here this weekend.

The whole 'pack my lunch before my first class in the morning' seems to be going well, the only problem I've found is that it conflicts with what little time I have to eat breakfast so I still have to sort that out. I mean, I have dry cereal but between making my pb&j, picking a bag of chips, grabbing a fruit, packing my water bottles, and checking to make sure I have all my materials, the forty five minutes I have before class barely seem like enough time. You're saying ' Well, you could do some of that before you go to bed,' and believe me, I've tried, but there are some things... Some things it's better to wait until the morning. Like making the sandwich. But honestly, I seem unable to get out of here in a timely manner with eating breakfast. I'll figure it out though, worry not. And before you suggest that I get up earlier, it's bad enough I only had seven hours of sleep last night, getting up earlier won't help my situation currently.

And for the record, I'm going to start doing laundry twice a week. I realize it's a dollar to wash and a dollar to dry but yesterday was ridiculous with three washers. So I'm thinking Monday, I'll do the stuff from the weekend, and Thursday I'll do the stuff from the week. Or something, also to be figured out at a later date. Right now I'm just glad I have clothes to wear in this drizzle.

It's been raining all week and even though I've seen hints of sunshine, it's supposed to rain tomorrow to. It'll be clear this weekend, they say, and I'm looking forward to an extra free day already, but I have a sneaking suspicion it's going to rain next week some too... I'm not sure what's up with all this rain. I mean, I know about the tropical storm and everything, we're talking about the affects that it might have on people's lives and behaviours it were to hit now, at the end of the month, like Katrina did in 2005 in my sociology class, but this drizzle is just sapping it out of you. You never realize how different the walk is from one class to another until you try it on a dry, warm sunny Sunday like I did - a dry run, if you will - then hit the classes, soaked or sprinkled on. It's especially difficult uphill, but I've managed. The only class I've been even remotely late to was today and it was my sociology class, but I arrived before the teacher and the reason I was a bit late was because of Jordan, and my statistics class, but that's because of a detour I took into the ladies' room. After having two bottles of water, it was rather a necessity. I can honestly say I've had more water here than I have ever consumed in a week over the summer.

And I suppose that about wraps things up. I'm okay with the lecture style classes now as long as it's not the intro to music. Her voice grates on the ears in that higher pitched annoying blond sort of way.

Tears and Fears

To have come this far, over two hundred fifty miles from my home, just to regret it and wish to return home is not just selfish, but it's also abusive. Emotionally, you're rattled as are those affected. You abuse natural resources by hauling all of the stuff here only to decide to move it all back, you abuse the money you signed for loan wise and scholarship wise, and worst of all, you abuse what little time you have on this lovely green earth. Even if you would give everything you have just to go back, even if it was worth the knowledge that you failed your original goal of college. This is what I keep reminding myself when I look at my roommate. She has been homesick since her parents left. Since they have left, she has talked about nothing more than how she hates it here, how she wishes she could go back, how she's not sure she's even going to make it to the semester...

Even though I'm so heartsick about home, I know I'm on better footing in the long run.

How? I have the support of my family, who helped me move up here and are only a phone call away (mom, dad, and Miranda too). I have the support of my wonderful boyfriend, whom, although I think I burden him too much with insignificant worries and fears, has stuck by me and supports whatever decision I make in the end as long as he's somewhere in the plans. I'm thankful for his family, which has been great and supportive also - I mean, I have all of these people who love me, who support me, who are here to catch me when I fall no matter what. Just knowing that makes me feel eons ahead of a lot of these people who seem more interested in themselves and having fun than attending classes.

And classes have just started.

This is what I get as a general impression from the people I've watched. I agree, it can't all be books - I'm all for the Nerf war that occurred earlier tonight between two third years on the second floor in front of the library. I mean, yeah, this stuff is going to get to you and you're going to need to unwind. But some of these guys? And girls, because I question the actual presence of brain cells (most if not all were lost in the tanning/bleaching process) - they act as if the parents are out of town and their parents are doctors, living in this expensively modern place and they are dead set on trashing the hell out of it before the parents come home. The thing is, by the time they realize that the parents are on the way home, there isn't any time to clean up the mess they've made - I'm expecting the campus to be a little less in form of bodies next semester.

At least I know I won't be leaving.

My plan right now is to make it through the first year with the best grades that I can manage, work but not forget to play a little too. After that? It's up in the air. I may continue regularly, give it two full years of college and then become a part time or after this I may become a part time student or even quit all together. I just think I owe this thing a year. After all, I did work to bring up my ACT score, I filled out all of those applications (six applications, one rejection, five acceptances), sent in all of those application fees, filled out the paperwork for FAFSA, filled out the loan papers from the financial aid office... We won't even go into how much money we spent preparing my room for my presence in it, as in making it rather homey and livable instead of a cell...

Hopefully tomorrow won't be too much for me.

Pocky and Watercolors

In less than five hours, my parents and I will be out on the open road towards Gatlinburg, where we have our reservations at what used to be a Holiday Inn Express but is now a 'lodge' of some sorts. Why Gatlinburg when my college is over an hour away in Johnson City? Because, we felt like it.

No, really it's because of the NASCAR race in Bristol. It has been decided that I am from the North, whether I was born and raised there or not. Not only do I hate tea (sweet, unsweet, cold, or hot), but I hate biscuits. What's worse is that I hate gravy, especially biscuits and gravy. I think that cornbread should have sugar in it instead of just plain Jiffy corn mix and milk. I hate most if not all canned vegetables unless done correctly. Especially green beans. I neither talk with a Southern drawl nor do I put up with NASCAR or stupidity. I just don't fit.

Which is fine, I guess. It would have been scary if my boyfriend and I had actually everything in common. He loves biscuits and gravy, which we generally have at Waffle House. Why Waffle House? Because no matter the hour, he can order a hamburger and biscuits and gravy if he wants while I have a pork chop or whatever else catches my fancy. It is our eat out of choice when we're in a hurry and we're too tired to argue over where to eat. Not that we argue, it's just that he'll suggest Jack in the Crack, I'll suggest Taco Hell, so forth and so on.

Everything (or almost everything) is surprisingly packed in the Jeep leaving me little room but I'll manage somehow. I always do. I can't complain this trip because all of what's in the back is mine. Just mine, no one else's. All of the overnight bags are being placed in the baggage carrier that's already been placed on the Jeep. I've had my last meal at home, said good bye to Donald, the family friend, my grandmother, and my boyfriend - which was a teary business but more on my part than his. One of my friends said that college will be good for me, it'll teach me independence. This friend doesn't know me very well.

After all, he's talking to the kid who, when she was three or four years of age, before they came out with the holster for kids and a leash for the parents, had a dog collar around her waist and a leash for her mom to hold onto. You're talking to the kid that had her parents on first name basis with the principals thanks to her antics. I was hell when I was a kid, I was hell when I was a teenager, I've surprisingly enough calmed down rather nicely and even then I'm the wild child. I've never had a problem with being independent, it's sharing and being a partner instead of just dealing with everything myself that's the learning experience. I'm going to have to let the distance not keep me from telling Jerry something that's bothering me. I'm just going to have to do what I always try to be with him - honest and open. Whatever happens will happen and he and I will work through it.

And what's with the title? I've been eating Pocky all night and I'm staring at my box of watercolors debating on whether or not to pack them. I think I will, for grins and giggles, along with my watercolor paper of course. There. That's decided. Now. Sleep. Perhaps I'll be able to post Friday. I doubt it so if not, happy weekend.

And it looks like I get another hour or two of sleep. Huzzah!

Awakening

Music is one of the greatest bonds between people. It awakens the senses. It sends your heart pumping into overdrive as adrenaline surges through you if you're listening to rock music as loud as your speakers will let you go without losing any quality of the music, the base turned as high up as it could possibly go - your chest is literally vibrating with the pulse of the bass or the crash of the drums. Your soul weeps for songs that are low in town but hyped up in power, like the Latin hymns. You can connect every human emotion to music because music can become a personification of whatever you could possibly feel. You can always find a song that matches your mood or your thoughts because music is like an unmovable bridge between people. It is the language of the heart and soul, a universal language that just leaves you reeling in the aftermath. Sure, not every band will be your favorite but remember - someone out there loves them, fancies themselves the band's biggest fan.

Well I've been trying to use music as therapy for the past few days, fighting out my fears with bands I normally wouldn't listen to who yelled and screamed at me in indiscernible intervals, and it wasn't even screamo. I've tried to sate my need for weepy songs then listen to songs that contrasted drastically, songs that normally would perk me right up. What I like to call driving music even though I have yet to get a drivers license. I've even taken my vengeance out on my fingers, practicing on my violin relentlessly until my arms were trembling just about as hard as my fingers and for once - for once!- music failed it. It hasn't helped, it hasn't even hindered, all it has done is left everything the same.

I figured talking it out would help. When people ask me if I'm excited about going to college I tell them the truth instead of, 'Do you know how many people have asked me that? I'm sick of it, it's so unoriginal.' I tell them that I'm afraid. That I've never been far from my family, that I don't want to leave the city I love, or the people (like my boyfriend). I don't want to lose the community I built myself, I just want this over with.

Jerry did ask me if I was ready for college. I told him no, that I wouldn't be ready for college until I was already done with it. That was the way it was for high school. My senior year, more than seventy percent of the incoming freshman thought that I was a freshman and it took them over half a year to believe otherwise, that I was, in fact, a senior and graduating. Some of the more adamant freshman said that they were going to make me fail the exams because they wanted another year of high school with me. I'm glad I didn't let them. I mean, sure, my GPA was a joke when I finished high school but my ACT scores were high, especially in English, and I'd been taking honors classes for four years. It was a cruddy GPA and I didn't try as hard as I should have but I still pretty much kicked ass in every subject even if my grade didn't always reflect that.

Every thought about this makes me ache. Tomorrow night is my last night home, my last meal at home, the last time I see my boyfriend, my grandmother, and a family friend, Donald, until closer to Thanksgiving break. Sure, my parents will try and visit me once a month and so will my boyfriend. Donald may even travel up the with parents to visit a few times but I mean it's not enough. I have momentos from everyone, I have pictures of some - I'm not going empty handed per se. But I am going with empty arms and a lonely heart. No trinket, no t-shirt, no book and no photograph can ever replacing actually having someone you care about there for you.

I don't even have to leave home to know that.

Inner Turmoil

Tears. They can cleanse your heart, cleanse your soul, cleanse your mind. They can unleash emotions that you had rather kept to yourself. They can make a bond stronger or they can break it. They can mend bridges or just add to the river divide. All in all, they can be very therapeutic. Now, I charge you to come across a woman who enjoys crying. Sure, we enjoying crying a little at the end of a particularly moving movie or book, but to actually burst into tears? Unless they're of joy or of laughter, tears are pretty rotten.

I especially have no love for tears. One, because I used to cry, often. Two, because I think it shows weakness. And three, because I'm just one of the guys.When I was a kid, if a teacher pulled me aside for a chat and I was even remotely in the red, I burst into tears. Defense mechanism but when I came back into the class, my face was red, my eyes red rimmed, my lashes sticking together - I'm not one of those girls you can cry prettily unless it's over a movie or something. Tears are good for one thing when you're a girl though - they help you get out of so much trouble.

I also cry when every I'm particularly emotional or involved over a subject. If I'm talking about my boyfriend, no, I'm not about to burst into tears, but if I'm arguing? Oh yes, the tears show. The voice gets choked, the ears start to burn, the nose starts to feel stuffy, the face starts to flush and it's all over folks. The water works start and once they start, it's never easy to take deep breaths to get them under control. Digging my nails into my palm helps a little, pinching my nose sometimes works, but nothing in the world makes it easy for me to stop crying in an emotionally charged situation. Sure, at my sister's wedding, my eyes misted for a moment but that's purely because my sister was crying and I have this annoying habit of crying with those I love.

Now why do I bring this up you ask? Ladies, if you've been following this blog at all, I'm sure you understand. Guys, well, I'll put it to you bluntly. I'm about to leave for college and I'm scared out of my mind. I'm from a close knit inner family (aka my mother, my father, myself, and my dog), I'm used to having someone to talk to when things go wrong, someone to bail me out, someone to borrow money from, get a recommendation from, share things with when we're in the car on the way to somewhere - a well functioning inner family. Dad's in charge and when dad isn't in charge, mom's in charge and when she isn't in charge, I'm usually home alone with the dog.

But yeah, I'm terrified. I'll also be leaving my boyfriend of three months, as of today. Our anniversary is the 18th of May, which is the date we both agreed on as the day we 'officially' became a couple. I feel so high school drama talking about it but I don't know quite how else to phrase it. We were something from the start, we were just more so after a certain point, that point being the day we went to Ren Faire and I didn't correct the veterans when they called the 'red coat' my boyfriend. We had been dating for nearly a month before that, so it seemed rather accurate. Later, I apologized because back then I still wasn't sure if he really wanted this, but he first asked why was I apologizing, then after that we discussed it and said yeah, so what, we're a couple.

Over the summer, it's become serious. Not life or death, still high school drama, 'oh-my-god, how-will-I-ever-live-without-you, if-you-died-I-would-die'. Nothing quite so high strung. Just an honest, mature relationship that knocks me off my feet every time I think about it, makes grown women go awwww and 'why doesn't my boyfriend/husband do that', and my friends have higher aspirations for themselves.

Still, this bedroom feels so sterile and I'm not even done packing all of my clothes and the extra things we bought over the weekend and my care package. I mean, it has my flair everywhere but I feel so detached from it. It's still my sanctuary, sure, but I mean it's different - and I don't like that feeling. I want when someone walks in to use my room as a guest room to feel like they're trespassing a little because while I'm still unmarried, unemployed (I won't be working through college), and in college, this room is mine, every single holiday, every single break unless something else comes up. I'm just so frustrated with this 'What will I take up the first trip, what will mom and dad bring up the next trip, will I need this, will I lose this, will this be worth the effort of taking or should I just buy it when I get there'.

Just... so much stress and it builds so quickly and it's over whelming. Just like the tears. I leave on Thursday, so I have two days home. What is home anyways?

This Time Next Week

Yeah, so this time next week, I'll be set up in my dorm. Freshman year at a state school, living in the newest dorm that's environmentally friendly on the first floor, which never happens to a freshman. I'll probably have the bed next to the door to our room and the door leading to our bathroom, which will be awful because the dorm door is right next to an outside door.

I'm hopping that when I get there we'll be able to get everything the way we want it to be. Honestly, I hate being by the door but I'm too paranoid to be next to the window. I'm not keen on matching any decor. If she doesn't like my rugs or something, I don't care. It's my stuff and I'll have my side of the room and she'll have hers. Not the best way to look at it but I'm not fashion forward and I don't think I have to be, when it comes to my room decor. Eh, enough about that.

I probably won't post next Thursday, because that's when I leave town officially but I'm crossing my fingers. Perhaps I'll at least get a quick connection, to say I'm here and everything's great. Not that I think anyone reads these mad ramblings, I know I sure wouldn't. I'm hoping by next Friday night I'll have my connection up and everything

So, yeah. Not thrilled about leaving this room, I kinda like living in a space by myself, more or less. I don't have to worry about someone else going through my stuff, asking to borrow a shirt, eating some of my food without asking, looking through my notes, possibly trying to break into my computer, looking over my shoulder - I don't like it at all, but even though I'm willing to take out a loan to pay for the newer, eco-friendly building, I'm not willing to fork over the nearly four thousand five hundred dollars needed to have my own room. I'd rather rent an apartment.

I know I'm taking some things up there - after all, that's what I spent most of the summer packing. But I also know that I'll be buying a lot of things once I'm up there. I'm not looking forward to it. Honestly, I'm scared. I've never been so far away from my family for such a long time and with grams so sick? I don't want to be. I don't want to leave Jerry, I don't want to leave my friends who are staying local. But I chose this school for me and for at least the first year, I'll stick with it. After that, I may come running home, because that place is big and it's scary and there are going to be a lot of people that are going to be rat bastards but there are going to be a lot of people who are going to be great, like Michael. I just hope I don't regret anything.

After all, I'm going to college to continue learning, the book style. If I wanted to keep learning real life experience, I would be saying 'Would you like fries with that?' After my sister's wedding, this should be a piece of cake, right? Right.

Good night world, have a good weekend and I'll see you Monday. Twitter twitter.

Thoughts of Writing

Everyone's had that day when you've sat down with a blank page in front of you, a pencil or pen in your hand, a million thoughts going in a million different directions, and you just can't seem to grasp one well enough to put it into words. Personally, that kind of thing happens to me often and it drives me crazy because when I do finally harness the ability to write? It's all over the place - just like my thought process. Take writing a letter to my laddy love, for instance. While I'm writing it, it's great, I have great things to say and I know just how I want to say it and what I want to say next. It's a fantastic feeling, never running out of things to say about him or to him, but thank whatever gods may be that I go back and I re-read my letters to him or I would be sending him a jumbled mess.

I was reading a book that Stephen King wrote on how to be a writer, why he's a writer, for my honors composition course this semester and something he said stuck with me. Now, he had gotten the advice from someone else, and I don't have it perfect, but it stuck with me. It's easy to write a lot of words but it's harder to write only the words you need. You can add and add and add all day long but in the end, you lose the message, you lose what you spent all that effort in trying to tell someone. If you can say it in a sentence, do it - it doesn't always have to be the length of a novel. I mean, if you're on a date with a woman at night and you're sitting on a bench, gazing up at the moon, are you going to give a drawn out version of why you think the moon is beautiful and why your date is beautiful? Come on, you're going to get right to it: 'The moonlight adds a very alluring mystical glow about you,' or some such nonsense.

I guess that's what I'm having trouble with the most. I've been writing a letter to him for days, nay, nearly a week now. I know it won't be my last letter, by any means, but this one - this one is important. The first letter, I mailed it to him while I was at orientation. Sure, he didn't get it until I was already back home, but I actually spent the entire ride to Johnson City writing that fabulous man of mine a letter with the intent of sending it to him when I got there - and I did. The second letter, I wrote before I was going to seem him one weekend about a month ago and I left it where he would find it. Just to make sure he would find it, I called him later and wished him a good night over the phone, then told him where to find it. Not very coy of me but I honestly don't care about games. This one - this one I want to hand to him and watch him read it. Silly, but true.

So here I am, with a notebook left over from high school, filling up pages and pages with what we've talked about, thinks I've wanted to tell him but I get my tongue too twisted to say, questions I bumbled in asking and want to clarify - and I'm look at this going, 'Why would I subject anyone to read all of this? Why not just keep it clean and simple?' I mean, he isn't going to sit down with four or five sheets of notebook paper in his hand and read it - I wouldn't expect him to. It's like trying to keep a guys attention while explain why you chose contact lenses over glasses - I mean, he loves the fact he can see your eyes, but honestly? He really doesn't care. So why bother?

Why bother? Why bother writing him a letter when I've written him twice before, when I tell him every time I see him that I love him, when I talk to him every night and I see him every weekend? Because I wake up every day and it's like falling in love all over again. I never cease to find things to love about him, I'm never bored with him, I'm never looking at my watch and going 'Ye gods, when will this end?' On the contrary, I'm wishing for more time with him because he makes me feel like no one else has ever made me feel. He makes he feel beautiful and makes me believe that I'm beautiful. I am happiest when I'm with him and I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with that man.

So why can't I just sit down and write a letter starting off with something like that?

Because I think I just did.

Tangled Nest

My thoughts are tangled and twisted, contorted into shapes and knots in such a way that I have no idea where one thought begins, ends, or crosses over another not. Everything is monochrome in color and all I hear is white noise, like the constant twittering of birds.

I'm thinking about college, about home, about love and about life.
I'm thinking about my grandmother, my sister, my parents and my boyfriend.
I'm thinking about weekends past, the weekend coming up and the three day weekends in college.
I'm thinking about packing up clothes, of hauling boxes and of my room losing my identity.
I'm thinking about my roommate, about my friends, about my classes and about money.
I'm thinking about financial aid, loans, scholarships and other things.
I'm thinking about marriage, my marriage, the family he and I could make.
I'm thinking about what could I really get with a degree in English, which is a question mark.
I'm thinking about all of my cds, dvds, favorite links and Facebook.
I'm thinking about how I still haven't solved that damn Rubik's cube sitting on the corner of my desk.
I'm thinking about rings, of how I hate diamonds because they seem cheap and common.
I'm thinking about my cell phone, how I wish it would ring more and I'd hear his voice.
I'm thinking about Italian food, my inability to eat a lot of meat, and fresh baked bread.
I'm thinking about ways to please, ways to give, ways to understand someone who is opening up but is slow and cautious in doing so.
Most of all I'm thinking about madness and this headache that's forming around my eyes, behind my eyes, between my eyes, from looking at the computer screen without my glasses and trying to untangle the mass of thoughts that is my nest.

I am left with a hazy crystal ball in the madness of it all and some tea leaves in a bottom of an empty cup that make no sense.

Music = Life

Music moves
Through a person
Like the wind
Moves through
The trees;
You can't see
The wind but
You can see
The effect it has
On the trees.

Music is like that.

Music strikes
An invisible chord
That makes the body
Vibrate and thrum
In answer
To unseen
Stroking fingers;
A person
Can't help but
Be moved by it.

Music is timeless like that.

Music expresses
Emotions better
Than an actor
Can compare to;
It holds sorrow,
Ignites passion,
Extinguishes hatred,
Nurtures love,
Banishes fears,
And dries tears.

Music is selfless like that.

Music slides
Past all defenses;
It echoes
Through everything
And doesn't care
About shape
Or size
Or age
Or color.
Music doesn't care.

Music is life like that.

~2007

Dear Friend

Dear Friend,

Why do you sit there, glued to the computer screen? A year ago, you didn't know how to use it or even have an e-mail account. Now you are a willing slave to technology. You don't listen to living, breathing people anymore, you just tell them to e-mail you. You blow off real friends in pursuit of those digital ones.

"Look at this," you tell me. "Did you know about this," you explain. "Have you ever heard of (such a thing)," and I feel like going insane. I want to yell at you, to tell you to make up your mind. That you can't not want me there in physical space with you and then you want me there at the same time. It doesn't work like that! You can't have it both ways! And I want to tell you I'm jaded. That nothing on that contraption will surprise me. That the world technology has given me has been disillusioned, and the only thing new and exciting anymore is actually living. Just living.

So get back to your virtual reality. You probably didn't hear me anyways. You're caught up in this thing, breathing electricity, fed on your inability to keep from it's keys and mouse. You're not you anymore. You're like an addict, unable to deny a craving and unable to stop once you're able to get your fix. You can't stop, can't eat or sleep, your mind gone on things that could be waiting on you in the magical hard drive kingdom. You have to have someone tell you to stop, to keep you from O.D.ing on information.

And you binge, trying to get as much as you can, as fast as you can. As if you were trying to make up for the years you spent in naivety. And when you come back, you seem adrift, lost. Unable to care about the real world. You're cradled in the arms of technology. One day it will bury you alive and pull your plug.

Your Friend,

Mlle Magpie

~2006

Math is Not My Strong Suit

Rubik's Cubes are the devil... It's now eleven forty one pm and I still haven't solved it.

I will solve it before I go to bed.

Edit: 08-08-08

Alright, so I didn't solve it. My enthusiasm/frustration only lasted until midnight when I grudgingly put it down due to drooping eye-lids.

But I did manage to get the top layer (as in the white all on top and the colors in the correct order - Three yellow leads into three red, three red leads into three green, three green leads into three orange and three orange leads into three yellow)

Late Night Calls

Sometimes I worry that when I call him, I'll run out of things to say before he's really tired. Or if I call him, he'll be so tired, I'll no more than get the first hello out then he'll yawn. He never yawns unless he's dead on his feet tired and usually when he's that tired and I'm talking to him, he's already in bed.

But I call him anyways because no matter if I've had a fantastic day or if I've had one of the worst days in my life, just hearing his voice, hearing the cadence in his speech when he relates a story or tells me how his day has been, hearing him laugh and I swear, sometimes I can hear him smile - it always makes my day better. He could tell me one of the worst Michael Jackson jokes of all time or tell me a story about one of his friends that should never be repeated, and it's still always worth picking up that phone and pressing send.

Sure, I talk to him every night. Why? Because I'm crazy about him. He and I never run out of things to say. Sure there are lulls in the conversation but they never really stop. And as I've stated before, even if we aren't talking, its the things he says when he's around that lets me know he was thinking of me. Like today, when he told me how he wouldn't be long out in the garage because he can't get enough of talking to me, he's addicted to me - it just makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

He doesn't say them because he has to. He says them simply because they give him, and me, pleasure. He isn't one to throw around I love you, which is one of the things I love about him. It makes hearing it all the more precious and real.

I can't help it, I love hearing him say 'Sleep well, love. Good night.' To see it is one thing but it's completely different to hear it. I love the little fights we have over things like the pros and cons of Star Wars and Star Trek and other relatively unimportant things. It helps us both unwind from our day, even if one of us (*ahem, me*) doesn't have a job. Hey, I'm a full time student, isn't that enough?

I love our fights because no matter who wins and who loses, we both know we've won because we have each other. It's the way he interjects with something I hadn't thought of before, whether he means it in jest or in all seriousness. It's everything about who he is and who I am that makes the conversations worth while. His sister says she's never had him on the phone for longer than ten minutes while I, effortlessly most of the time, keep him for half an hour to an hour.

One does silly things when one is in love. Talking on the phone with your girlfriend for an ungodly amount of time before you go to sleep may be one of them but do you hear me complaining?

Midnight Serenade

And as the moon creeps over head, the wind makes its lazy way through the leaves, I come to rest my weary head on my pillow and thought of you lull me to sleep.

I remember stories you've told of your family and friends, of the places you've worked and the places you've been, and even though I wasn't there, I feel as if I had been.

I think of the way you nod your head when you're confirming something or telling me it's okay in your own special way and I can't help the smile that transforms into a grin.

Then I remember the sound of your laugh, the curve of your lips, the lift of your eyes at the corners and my heart aches a little, impatient to see that reaction again.

I remember the time spent with your fingers twined in mine, my gentle exploration of those clever fingers, those fingers filled with talent whether tuning a piano or an engine.

I sigh at the thought of your arms around me tight, the way my body fits against your side as we walk around and the comments we get on how well we fit together.

And all the while, I know the light in your eyes, whether it's happiness, love, or mischief as well as I know my own and I can't want to see those blue eyes sparkle next we meet.

I love every hair on your head, every whisker of your beard, every scar and every scratch, every freckle and even the line where your tan begins to fade on your arm.

I love to hear you talk, the way you move your hands when you tell a story, the tilt of your head when you listen and your eyes intent on my every movement also.

I know when we're apart that you know I'm thinking of you, talking about you, dreaming about you, loving you and missing you and I know that you're doing all of those things too.

It's the every day things that we talk about, the every day things that we do, as simple as picking up the phone and as hard as putting it down again.

I know my mother rolled her eyes when she saw me on the phone with you after you had left but I couldn't help it, just the sound of your voice warms me through and through.

You're like my other half, two pieces making one soul and most people go through their entire lives trying to convince themselves they have even a ghost of what we have.

I know it may sound silly, and maybe I'm a fool, but my dearest love, I am an utter and complete fool for you.

Thoughts of a New Life

It seems as if the summer has passed so quickly compared to years past. I've had summers filled with scrap booking, running around an empty campus, summer school and the likes. I've had summers filled with friends, some still around, others just a mere memory, a vaguely remembered face, and summers filled with crushes and 'boyfriends', all now long gone. But this summer was different. Besides being a transition from high school to college and the joys of packing for such an occasion, this summer has also been about growing personally and I am eternally grateful that I have had my boyfriend there to help me with it all.

Now, I know what you may be thinking. She has a boyfriend, you say, they've been together all summer. Chances are, it'll fall apart during the first semester. Chances are they don't know what love is and they're just dumb kids. They haven't had a chance to live and experience life, they have no idea what they're talking about when they talk about love and life and the future.

Oh how wrong you are.

I met my boyfriend when he came to crash my prom this past April because my date was a friend of his and had ridden down from Maryland to be my date. Upon laying eyes on Jerry, who was wearing a uniform from the second World War, I promptly told him that I had to hug him and proceeded to do so. That next weekend, I invited him and two other people who were both friends with my date and Jerry to help me celebrate my birthday by attending a movie with me, The Forbidden Kingdom. I had just newly turned eighteen.

I feel that I must bring up at this point that Jerry is older than I am by seven years, which has never bothered me because he is a very decent man. He has a strong sense of morals and honor, a very strong relationship with his god, which I respect whole heartily, and is what I like to classify as an old school gentleman. He is the type of man that doesn't understand why men whistle at young things not wearing nearly enough clothing. His kind are few and far between.

This entire summer, nearly every weekend I have spent in his company in some form or another. In the beginning, I didn't see him nearly as often as I would have liked. We would go to movies, to the go-kart track, play put-put golf, walk around the mall and the likes. Then as my parents became more comfortable with him, he was allowed to come pick me up and we would begin to spend entire days together. So I would say I've been spoiled when it comes to this style of life. I greatly look forward to the weekends now more than I ever have because I know something, it doesn't matter what, will be going on and it'll be fantastic.

We 'officially' started dating after my graduation from high school in May but I have a feeling that he and I were pretty much together from the get go. From the start, he's always understood me and I've understood him. It's been an effortless melding of two halves into a whole. In fact, this past Saturday, a family friend met my boyfriend for the first time and he told me how our speech patterns were so similar and so many other things were so mirroring that he said it was like talking to a male me.

Most relationships have problems. One likes music that the other doesn't, they can't agree on television or a movie, the woman is always taking and the man is never receiving anything in return, and so on and so forth. There's a problem, some where that's brought to light and the fighting commences somewhere down the road. With us, we've agreed on just about everything and it's our differences that make us unique and endear us to the other. We've never squabbled over something and if we have bickered, it's been an affectionate fight, not a mean one. We understand when the other's joking.

When we're walking around the mall or somewhere else, we just sort of shake our head at couples that don't seem like a couple at all. It's easy to see that one of them has to be in charge, their body language gives away their dispassionate feelings for one another, they just seem to separate. They aren't smiling and laughing, holding each other's hand or their arm around each other's waists. They seem like ill fitted pieces in this puzzle that we call life. He and I, on the other hand, fit perfectly. If he's in a bad mood, just my talking to him helps and vice versa. We just feel better around each other, and that's what love is. It isn't putting someone down or trying to take control of someone else's life. It's compromise and partnership, it's communication and a willing to be open to each other, but most of all, it's about love.

He and I are nearing our third month together, four since we've known each other and I have a feeling he and I are going to last a long while yet. I'm absolutely crazy about that man, I love and adore him and he is the same way. Happiness knows no bounds when we're together.

So I go forth into this college year and I celebrate the fact that I have found the love of my life and I have nothing to fear as long as we're together.